


what my heart just yearns to say (in ways that can't be said)

by darlingofdots



Category: The Locked Tomb Trilogy | Gideon the Ninth Series - Tamsyn Muir
Genre: Bedsharing, F/M, Hand Jobs, Oral Sex, TLT kink meme, c'mon you two just talk to each other, yearning tm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-12 10:01:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28883583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darlingofdots/pseuds/darlingofdots
Summary: Prompt: Cam/Pal bed sharing: They share a bed. In the middle of the night they wake up basically halfway on the way to sex, there's a moment of "do we continue" but obviously the answer is yes
Relationships: Camilla Hect/Palamedes Sextus
Comments: 19
Kudos: 65
Collections: TLT Kink Meme





	what my heart just yearns to say (in ways that can't be said)

**Author's Note:**

> Yes I know I only posted yesterday. Yes I wrote this all in one hazy sitting. No I do not intend to stop.

Camilla did not remember the dream, afterwards. She rarely did.

What she did remember, and could never manage to forget no matter how much she meditated, was how she woke up.

She and the Warden had slept in the same bed on and off since they were children, and after they’d moved into the Warden’s quarters she couldn’t recall the last time she hadn’t, at some point in the night, woken up to hear his deep, even breaths next to her, and fallen back asleep relieved that he was there. They had always sought comfort in each other. The Warden snored a little, and Camilla might shove at him until he rolled to his side and press close to him to stop him rolling back again; Cam had nightmares sometimes, and often opened her eyes in the morning with her hand on the Warden’s chest, where he held it to his heart so she would know she was safe even in sleep. They had no secrets from each other. He was her necromancer, she was his Hand, and they were as much themselves as they were an extension of the other.

This was different, though.

She did not remember the dream, only that she woke feeling hot and sweaty and that there was an elbow poking her in the ribs. And then she woke up properly, with the Warden’s face buried into the crook of her shoulder and his open mouth on her throat, and his legs tangled with hers in a way that it took every ounce of her self-control not to buck her hips, and her own treacherous hand resting on his lower back. The hem of his shirt had ridden up. The tips of her fingers had slipped below the band of his pants.

Cam took a very deep breath and let it out.

Fuck.

It wasn’t that she was shy — there was no space for that. It was the… yes, the novelty of it; it had been a long time since he had surprised her. He must be asleep himself. She strained her ears in the darkness, trying to listen for the rhythm of his breathing, but all that accomplished was that all her senses strained for something to lock onto and there was the pressure of his skinny thigh between her legs, the softness of his lips against where her pulse raced in her throat, the heat pooling low in her belly. He  _ must  _ be asleep.

Her own breath caught. Even if she had known what to do, her body, usually so obedient, refused to cooperate. She lay there in the Warden’s bed, paralysed by an emotion she dared not name, and stared up at the ceiling.

The Warden sighed in his sleep, warm air on her skin. Cam felt him wake up — the slight twitch of his muscles, the intake of breath, the sudden stiffening as he realised where he was. She screwed her eyes shut and tried to pretend, which was a doomed venture from the start. She never could pretend with him.

His voice was barely even a whisper. “Cam?” And then, more softly still: “Fuck.”

Her throat was dry. “I — it’s okay.”

“I’m sorry.”

Neither of them moved.

Cam’s fingers twitched. She could feel, with very little room for doubt, his arousal against her leg. This was a natural response to stimulus, she reminded herself. Even the Master Warden of the Sixth was not immune to biological imperatives. She turned her head and was rewarded for this monumental effort with a face full of his hair, tickling her nose.

His ribcage expanded, deflated. “I should —”

“Yeah.”

Neither of them moved.

She couldn’t hold back any longer and adjusted her position, minutely shifting her hips. She had intended to retreat, to remove herself from temptation, but somehow she achieved the opposite.

The Warden groaned. “We could. I mean.”

“Yeah?”

“If you —”

“What?”

“If you want.”

It wasn’t a question of  _ want _ . If it were, they would not be having this conversation. She hadn’t said anything, these last few years; there hadn’t been any point. It would not have changed anything. But his last letter had gone unanswered, and that was uncharted territory.

“Cam?”

He was so warm. She slipped her hand lower, drawing him closer. He hissed through his teeth, adjusted his head.

Kissed her neck.

Cam moaned. The sound echoed too loudly in the empty space, so she bit her lip to keep silent.

They were neither of them innocents. There had been that archaeologist when the Warden was writing a monograph about post-Resurrection architectural conventions, and Swordsman’s Spire was a quagmire of endorphins, hormones, and erotic poetry at the best of times. It was not all that hard to find someone to take care of your needs, if you had them. That was not what this was about.

He nuzzled at her throat, experimentally scraping his teeth over the line of her jaw and repeating the movement when she shivered and tipped her head back, to give him access. Cam pulled at him until he pushed himself up to hover over her, elbows on either side of her shoulders, his knee finally pressing up against where she needed him, and he kept kissing her neck —

With the kind of bravery only afforded by darkness, Cam slid her right hand up underneath his shirt and circled his nipples with her fingertips, enjoying the way he jumped and then leaned into her touch. Her left travelled downward, to the straining front of his pants, eliciting a moan and a breathy “ _ fuck _ ”. In response, she ground her hips down against his thigh.

“Please?”

That was dangerous, asking outright. She immediately wanted to retreat and apologise, but it was too late already; sitting back on his haunches, the Warden tore his shirt off, pushed his hair out of his eyes, and started to fumble with Cam’s shorts. It was clumsy and undignified and it drove her slightly mad, but when he tossed the offending garment aside and the mattress shifted and she suddenly felt his breath on her cunt she thought it might all have been worth it just for this, and then he drew his tongue flat against her and she may or may not have blacked out.

It shouldn’t have been a surprise that he was so good at this. He was good at everything he put his mind to, and it was always a slightly intoxicating experience to have his full attention. There was nobody who knew her like he did, and he put his knowledge to good use finding all the spots that made her sigh, or moan, or beg. When he finally pushed the tip of a finger inside her she thought she would weep with relief — by the time he had worked up to three, she was almost sobbing. She rocked against him as she came, chasing the sensation until it was too much. He held her through the aftershocks, his hand flat on her abdomen to steady her.

Knowing it was stupid, knowing she would regret this, Cam sat up and reached for him. She tasted herself on his lips, heady and sharp. He said something she could not make out, maybe her name, maybe something else entirely, and his pants were already hanging low on his slender hips, clinging to the minute curve of his arse, and it was the easiest thing in the world to slip her hand under the worn-out elastic and wrap her fingers around him, hard and desperate. She wanted to say something, and she thought that if she did she would hate herself forever. She reminded herself that this was a fluke, a one-time manifestation of unconscious need, and so when the Warden started to tremble and buck his hips, she told herself that what she was about to do was a matter of tidiness; it was the middle of the night and she had changed the sheets only yesterday. He went easily when she pushed and freed his cock, and only swore the once when she swirled her tongue around the tip. He did not grab her hair or try any of the other annoying things people tried when Cam went down on them. He held himself remarkably still all the way up to the moment when he shuddered and gasped out her name in warning, and Cam neatly swallowed him down, making sure not to spill a single drop.

She rocked back on her heels. Her body was still abuzz with electricity, but she was suddenly exhausted. She retrieved her clothes; the Warden restored himself to some semblance of propriety. Neither of them spoke as they settled back under the covers, not quite touching; it was he who finally sighed, and reached for her hand, and fell asleep.

In the morning, Cam woke to an empty bed. The bathroom door was open and the sonic was running. She told herself she would not say anything until he did. 

He did not.

**Author's Note:**

> Big thank you to my wonderful Discord friends for cheering me on, and especially to liveonthesun, gallpall, and orbitalsquabbles for making sure it's coherent! Whatever would I do without you?  
> I'm on [tumblr](https://darlingofdots.tumblr.com/)!


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